tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117890942018-03-06T02:18:57.196+08:00Reethinking LifeSometimes, life is strange. You think you've written out the perfect chapter, then someone comes along and tears out the page.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.comBlogger138125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-1304447366808622122011-03-19T12:11:00.002+08:002011-03-19T12:52:21.030+08:00My First Blog CarnivalI haven't been updating this blog too much, because most of my time is spent taking care of the kids, and maintaining my mommy website, <a href="http://www.rainydaysandmomdays.com/">Rainy Days and Mom Days</a>. Do drop by. And please check out <a href="http://www.rainydaysandmomdays.com/2011/03/18/the-adventures-of-supercow/">my latest post</a>--my first for a mommy blog carnival--and the posts of the other breastfeeding moms.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-66961867078884298792011-03-01T14:21:00.002+08:002011-03-01T14:35:37.769+08:00Yes, We're Still Alive!It's been nearly two years since I've updated this blog. I now have two new babies: my second daughter, Sarayu Beatriz--we call her Breeze--and my mommy website, <a href="http://www.rainydaysandmomdays.com/">Rainy Days and Mom Days</a>.<br /><br />Since <a href="http://www.rainydaysandmomdays.com/">Rainy Days </a>is more a practical tips site, helping make motherhood a breeze, I'll put my personal, not-so-helpful musings here. Do come by regularly. It's nice to see old friends, and make new ones. And please do visit <a href="http://www.rainydaysandmomdays.com/">Rainy Days and Mom Days </a>too.<br /><br />In the mean time, here are a few pictures to show what I've been up to.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HODigd3-zKA/TWySB-kPuGI/AAAAAAAAAH4/dbQwlLBaQrc/s1600/DSC01926.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578994601077749858" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HODigd3-zKA/TWySB-kPuGI/AAAAAAAAAH4/dbQwlLBaQrc/s320/DSC01926.JPG" /></a> Sleeping soundly together--isn't that sweet? </div><div align="center"><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OaTFzm1iAyI/TWySBFzYOmI/AAAAAAAAAHw/T8mvyjHClYo/s1600/DSC01686.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578994585840400994" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OaTFzm1iAyI/TWySBFzYOmI/AAAAAAAAAHw/T8mvyjHClYo/s320/DSC01686.JPG" /></a> Raine preparing for Christmas in Baguio<br /><br /><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KDEB8GRV7Tw/TWySA_L3xJI/AAAAAAAAAHo/4t6Ye00BBNY/s1600/DSC01773.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578994584064083090" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KDEB8GRV7Tw/TWySA_L3xJI/AAAAAAAAAHo/4t6Ye00BBNY/s320/DSC01773.JPG" /></a> Breeze enjoying the cold weather<br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div><br /></div>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-78118567221352997882009-10-26T18:34:00.002+08:002009-10-26T18:55:02.476+08:00Yes, We're Alive!And we're expecting another baby by June next year.<br /><br />I wanted to write a long, cute blog post about this latest addition to our family, but my brain is not working. And I'm still trying to figure out how to type and work around being queasy, dizzy and generally blah all day.<br /><br />Which doesn't mean that we aren't excited about the new baby (we hope that it's a boy this time). We are.<br /><br />Sometimes I feel a little guilty (mother guilt even at 8 weeks!) that we aren't acting as giddy as when Raine was in my tummy. And sometimes I wonder if I can ever treat them the same or will Raine have the advantage of being first?<br /><br />Perhaps it's the hormones talking. Or the morning sickness that has no concept of time.<br /><br />I just need to jumpstart my writing again. Then I can share how happy we really are.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-10074159573607281662009-04-24T12:14:00.003+08:002009-04-24T12:40:02.304+08:00What I Wish for Raine<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SfFCWLBGPRI/AAAAAAAAAHM/gmJ0Opa7_nI/s1600-h/IMG_0007.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328112782837955858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SfFCWLBGPRI/AAAAAAAAAHM/gmJ0Opa7_nI/s320/IMG_0007.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Sometimes I find Raine out back, by herself. Sometimes she's puttering around, but most times she's to be found on the top rung of our folding steps--just sitting quietly. She can spend as long as 15 minutes out there, being still. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I don't quite know yet what's going on in her mind when she's out there. I'd like to think that at this young age, she has learned to appreciate the simple joys in life. Like the birds chirping or the flowers stirring in the breeze (then again she could also be plotting her next act of mayhem). </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When I think of Raine's future, I want grand things for her, naturally. I want success, happiness--all the good things, all the best things. But what I'd also want is for her never to lose this ability to simply be still. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Be still and know that He is God. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>That's something that I have difficulty doing. I get so lost in the busyness of this world, in the striving to achieve whatever--success, happiness, accolades--I no longer can be still and trust in the God who only has the best in mind for me. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The same God who has only the best in mind for Raine, even grander than I could ever hope for. And I wish--I pray--that Raine will always know to be still and find peace in that. </div>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-1465825343982242362009-03-18T14:19:00.003+08:002009-03-18T14:35:57.547+08:00Adventures in Motherhood, Chapter 2We lie in bed, side by side in the dark. It's time to go to sleep, but I can see the exuberance and energy still shining in her eyes. She holds up a finger close to my face, and with a pleading look asks, "One?"<br /><br />I'm dying to sleep, but I give in. "OK. One last time."<br /><br />She scrambles into a flat-on-the-bed position and begins, "Say.....clock!" It sounds more like, "see <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cahk</span>", but we understand each other. I echo, "Clock!" and tickle her tummy as she screams with laughter.<br /><br />"Say...clock!" she says again when she regains control of herself. "Clock!" And more giggling, squealing and tickling ensue. Over and over, we say clock and laugh. Sometimes, she takes a very long pause after "Say"; I can see her bursting with the anticipation. Sometimes the anticipation gets the better of her. She dissolves into gales of laughter--without saying "clock" or me having to do anything.<br /><br />Finally, I tell. "OK, enough. Time to sleep. Good night."<br /><br />She takes my face in between her tiny hands and gives me a kiss. Then she settles down with a final sigh: "Fun."<br /><br />We drift off to sleep.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-56017065104208539652009-02-06T16:13:00.003+08:002009-02-06T16:15:02.742+08:00Why I Married HimMe: Do we look at the glass as half empty or half full?<br /><br />The Hubby: Half empty.<br /><br />Me: Darn. We're both pessimists then.<br /><br />The Hubby: Yeah. And we accuse each other of drinking from the glass.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-31498232194489828372009-01-27T18:21:00.002+08:002009-01-27T18:39:50.999+08:00Adventures in Motherhood, Chapter 1Motherhood may sometimes be a lonely job, but you are rarely, <em>ever</em>, alone.<br /><br />Take the bath I tried to sneak in the other day. I park Raine in front of her electronic nanny and zip into the bathroom. <em>Madagascar</em> is Raine's current favorite (she finds the scene where Alex the Lion bites Marty the Zebra's butt hilarious), so I assume that would give me enough time for a little pampering.<br /><br />I had barely turned on the shower when I suddenly feel a cold draft. The door bangs open (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">should've</span> locked it!) I hear "Mama!" And suddenly I'm shampooing to the melody of an enthusiastically played out-of-tune xylophone. <em>OK, skip the conditioner</em>.<br /><br />Then total silence. Uh oh. I peek out of the curtains and I see Raine busy brushing her teeth. Well, sucking on her toothbrush is more like it. I figure that will buy me an extra five minutes, so I prepare my bath puff. Then there's a rustling of the shower curtains. "Boo!" she says, then disappears. She reappears on the other side. "Boo!" This happens several times. <em>OK, fine. I'll just use plain soap today</em>.<br /><br />I peek out, and Raine is back to brushing her teeth. I hurriedly rinse off. I open my eyes and there is Raine right in front of me, with a huge smile, tugging off her shirt. "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Aaaaack</span>!" I scream, "Raine, get out, you're going to get wet!" She steps out wailing. <em>OK, no post-bath body oil</em>.<br /><br />I towel dry, quickly. "Sorry, Raine, Mommy didn't mean to shout. You startled me, that's all...Raine?" And I step out of the shower, she's sniffling while brushing her teeth. When she sees me, she lightens up. "Mama." She lifts her hands to be carried.<br /><br />Oh well. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">There'll</span> be time enough for long baths when she grows up.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-30472167175650374732008-12-04T18:12:00.002+08:002008-12-04T18:18:52.308+08:00Some Weird AdviceYesterday, as I was waiting for my train, I started reading those TV-type ads at the station. The flat screen monitor ones with soundless <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">MTVs</span>, supposed ETA of the next train, and of course the ads.<br /><br />These TVs also had scrolling tips, to give more value to the bored commuters, I suppose. Yesterday's set of tips was for better hair. And this is Tip#2:<br /><br /><em>When going shopping or running errands, take some time to stand outside nearby salons</em>.<br /><br />Um. OK. That makes perfect sense. Will try that some time soon.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-23954092296695837702008-12-02T09:21:00.003+08:002008-12-02T09:46:25.536+08:00This Really COULD Happen To YouYesterday, Raine was taking a nap and The Hubby texted to say that he was back from the grocery. So I went out to open the gate. Chloe, our grumpy old wonder dog, had peed on the driveway, so I started hosing it down as The Hubby parked our SUV in the garage. Next thing I knew, there was a barefoot baby next to me, toes wiggling in the puddle of water, gleefully grinning at me.<br /><br />My heart stopped beating for a moment. The Hubby and I <strong><em>did not see her</em></strong> come out of the house.<br /><br />I've read about the <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2004/08/03/earlyshow/main633815.shtml">rise of young children's accidental deaths caused by SUVs</a>. They said that as SUVs get bigger, the visibility--of the ground and those blind spots, I suppose--goes down. The <a href="http://pediatrics.about.com/od/safety/a/05_backover_car.htm">drivers just don't see the kids</a>--toddlers mostly--and they get backed up on or hit, usually in their own garages or driveways. Musician <a href="http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20201819,00.html">Steve Curtis Chapman's daughter</a>, Maria, died because of this. But I was thinking, hey that happens only in the States. It wouldn't really happen here. And not to us.<br /><br />Wake up call! I am so thankful that nothing happened to Raine. I realize that we have to be more vigilant, more conscious of where she is and what she's doing. While I am a staunch believer in independence, I have to temper it with caution, with prudence.<br /><br />Thank you, Lord, for watching over Raine.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-82961867071872789722008-11-27T16:21:00.005+08:002008-11-27T17:14:19.682+08:00And So It Begins<u><span style="color:#0066cc;">A few weeks ago, I was ferociously typing (not a pretty mental image, but I assure you, that's what I was doing) in our bedroom when I realized that Raine had been pretty quiet for the past 15 minutes or so. Now, as any mom will tell you, total silence and awake offspring--the combination will always send shivers down your spine. Not a good thing. </span></u><br /><u><span style="color:#0066cc;"><br />I was about to get up and check on her when she came tottering in, burbling non-stop in that breathy, high-pitched voice of hers that she uses when she's excited. She took my hand, pulling me to my feet, then led me out the door. She proudly <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pointed</span> to the wall and beamed at me. And this is what I saw: </span></u><br /><u><span style="color:#0066cc;"></span></u><br /><u><span style="color:#0066cc;"></span></u><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SS5awmm04KI/AAAAAAAAAHE/wmBAKUR3mnw/s1600-h/IMG_0017.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273252004741046434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SS5awmm04KI/AAAAAAAAAHE/wmBAKUR3mnw/s320/IMG_0017.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Raine had scribbled on the entire wall with her blue, purple and black crayons.<br /><br />When I finally reattached my jaw, I launched into the full "crayons are only for your paper you don't write on the wall or the floor or the appliances or your books or on yourself no no no no".<br /><br />Raine's proud smile changed to her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">pouty</span>, lower-lip-<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">trembling</span>-I'm-about-to-cry-but-I'm-holding-it-back look. She sniffed--then reached up her arms for a hug from Mommy.<br /><br />As I held her, her face buried in my shoulder, I gently explained again why I reacted the way I did. Deep inside, though, I thought it was adorable (as did her Daddy, when he came home that night). She's a quick learner, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">though</span>, our Raine. She never wrote on the walls again after that.<br /><br />We didn't wash the walls immediately. The Hubby wanted to keep her masterpiece up for a few more days. And every time Raine would pass by, she'd pause slightly, and give a little smile.<br /><br />Ah, Raine. Someday. Someday, your work will be admired by many. And it won't just be on the wall outside your Mommy's bedroom.<br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-91406425972395773402008-11-25T18:22:00.005+08:002008-11-25T18:53:24.974+08:00The Dinos are Coming! The Dinos are Coming!I've been thinking of places I'd like to bring Raine to, such as the Museo Pambata and Ocean Park and the zoo. Now I've heard that there's this theme park type dinosaur exhibit coming end of November--with 30 life-sized robotic dinosaurs! How cool is that?<br /><br />Dinos Alive! World Tour is a purported traveling exhibit cum theme park, complete with sound and light effects to highlight the said 30 dinosaurs. They also have lots of activities, and I'm looking forward to the Fossil Dig. You get to pretend to be paleontologists! Of course Raine will just want to stuff the sand in her pocket, but who knows what future career it could inspire!<br />The Inflatable looks like fun (but check out the line!) but I don't think Raine's ready for that yet.<br /><br />They have games, activities and puzzles at Dinos Alive. I don't know what kind of food they'd have at a dino-inspired cafe--T-Rex Steak perhaps?--but they do have one, should hunger strike you in the middle of the Jurassic Period.<br /><br />Dinos Alive will be set up beside Mall of Asia from November 28 to January 11, 10am-10pm on weekends and 12pm-10pm on weekdays. Tickets are available for purchase from Ticket World by calling 891-9999 or online at <a href="http://www.ticketworld.com.ph/">www.ticketworld.com.ph</a> Ticket prices for adults are Php 600, kids below a meter are Php 450 and the family package costs Php 1,750 (2 adults+2 kids+1 free ticket).<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvXQ-veU3I/AAAAAAAAAG8/dNPlaM-iis8/s1600-h/Giant+Inflatable.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272544475487294322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvXQ-veU3I/AAAAAAAAAG8/dNPlaM-iis8/s320/Giant+Inflatable.jpg" border="0" /></a> Giant Inflatable</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvXQcsnaqI/AAAAAAAAAG0/rq6E5RE3F5Y/s1600-h/Apatosaurus.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272544466348501666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvXQcsnaqI/AAAAAAAAAG0/rq6E5RE3F5Y/s320/Apatosaurus.jpg" border="0" /></a> Apatosaurus<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvWBkNxtpI/AAAAAAAAAGk/Z4YCpyqzZyA/s1600-h/Apatosaurus.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvVCzJxUOI/AAAAAAAAAGc/eBhtwK4_h-M/s1600-h/Triceratop2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272542032834941154" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvVCzJxUOI/AAAAAAAAAGc/eBhtwK4_h-M/s320/Triceratop2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="left"><br /><br /><br />Stegosaurus (I think)<br /></div><div></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> </div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvVCJNJm1I/AAAAAAAAAGM/S_P_1svS2KY/s1600-h/Fossil+Dig.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272542021574826834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvVCJNJm1I/AAAAAAAAAGM/S_P_1svS2KY/s320/Fossil+Dig.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div><div></div><div align="left"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Fossil Dig </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><br /><br /> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SSvVCqCAQnI/AAAAAAAAAGU/TjwaOnZqsXo/s1600-h/T-Rex.jpg"></a> </div><br /></div>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-51813734729176009252008-11-20T15:16:00.004+08:002008-11-20T17:40:36.971+08:00Early New Year GoalsI have tons of work to do, but I can't quite focus. My mind is racing ahead to next year. A whole new chapter in life. The Hubby and I have discussed it, and we've agreed that I'll shift gears (not necessarily downshift) and be a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fulltime</span>, honest-to-goodness <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">SAHM</span> (that's stay-at-home-mom for the clueless).<br /><br />The past year-and-a-half, I've been a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">WAHM</span> (work-at-home-mom) and though the situation is workable, there are still some things I'm not happy with. Like the way I get all grumpy with Raine when I have a deadline looming. Or how the meals are not too well-thought out because I'm too busy or tired to prepare a proper menu. And--maybe a little selfishly--how I don't get to blog as often or write me stuff because there's always something else I need to get done first.<br /><br />I'm not sure what will happen next year though, when I'm a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">SAHM</span>. The Hubby once said in exasperation, "Take away all the deadlines and things you have to do and you still won't bake!" Or make soap or make cookies for gifts or (fill in the blank for whatever activity that I always put off).<br /><br />But there's always hope for the not-so-domestic goddesses. I'll just take it one step at a time. And the first step is to make a list of all the things I want to do.<br /><br /><ol><li>Clear out the house. Big task, I know. But basically, I want to get rid of clutter. Maybe have a garage sale, even. Weed out the closet and the cupboards and the piles and piles of stuff. </li><li>Fix the house. Get new curtains, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">placemats</span>, stuff like that. Add some personal touches. After all, we plan to stay here a few more years. </li><li>Have a weekly menu and grocery list. Make sure that the food is healthy and yummy. In line with that, I'd like to try out at least one new recipe a week. Or every other week. </li><li>Bake cookies, makes spreads. Make a cake! Maximize our fantastic oven. I'd like to be that kind of house where there's always something freshly baked (and that way, I can make sure that there isn't too much sugar in our goodies, and like spike the muffins with carrots and that kind of thing). </li><li>Make my flavored oils and vinegars that I can give as gifts (I bought the bottles for it a year ago!).</li><li>Wean Raine from videos. This is my ultimate I'm-such-a-lousy-mom issue. I always said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">pre</span>-Raine that I would never let my kid get hooked on TV and videos and computer games, but I find myself relying on videos to keep her busy while I go do other stuff. I want to do stuff like go on nature walks, bring her to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Museo</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Pambata</span>, make homemade clay and finger paint. </li><li>Look into homeschooling. I know it's a bit early, but I want to stimulate Raine's mind. And this dovetails with #6. </li><li>Exercise. Kickboxing or swimming--I just need to get into the groove. I want to lose that final 16lbs that's been hanging around for over a year!</li><li>Revamp my wardrobe. After I see the effects of #8. </li><li>Make soap again. I want to make that Oh Baby! bar for Raine. And The Hubby wants that Great Mornings bar. I want that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Rix</span> Trix and people are looking for Honey Oatmeal. So even if I don't sell them anymore, I can just make for my own use. </li></ol><p>I better stop at ten for now. Otherwise, it'd be unmanageable. This blog post also happens to be my entry to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Moleskine</span> Philippines Giveaway. I hope to win! That gorgeous paper! I am so addicted to notebooks and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Moleskines</span> are the best. </p><p></p><p>The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Moleskine</span> Notebook is courtesy of Avalon.PH<br /><a href="http://www.viloria.com/go/go.php/avalonph" rel="nofollow">http://www.viloria.com/go/go.php/avalonph</a><br /><br />For the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Viloria</span>.net contest rules, please see<br /><a href="http://www.viloria.net/archives/moleskine-2008/" rel="nofollow"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Viloria</span>.net</a></p>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-16283407300851416292008-09-25T12:45:00.006+08:002008-09-25T14:08:28.986+08:00Schizophrenic Conversations with GodI was in the shower early this morning, pondering my to-do list, which is possibly longer than Raine, when a voice popped into my head. <em>What about the other things you really want to write?, </em>it said.<br /><br />While I didn't drop to my knees in awe, I did pause my vigorous shampooing, "Are you talking to me, God?" A heartbeat later, "Or am I just talking to me?" It didn't help my confusion any when the soundtrack in my mind started warbling <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">dito</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">baaaaa</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ang</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">sulok</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">kong</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">takdaaaaa</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">sa</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ilalim</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">ng</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">araaaaaaw</span>...</em> (semi literal translation: is this my spot under the sun?); which made me think that either my inner jukebox is a closet <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">baduy</span></em> or the neighbor's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">YesFM</span> is more insidious than I originally suspected.<br /><br />The past three months have been hectic, and in the midst of deadlines, coordination, hunting down writers and photographers, conceptualizing editorial lineups, proofreading, researching, writing, editing, counting words and counting toes (when Raine insists on sitting on my lap), I received two very flattering offers (and no, they weren't from The Hubby).<br /><br />The first was from this huge magazine publishing company. I'm doing a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">mockup</span> issue for them, a sort of Magazine Lite--all the articles without the ads--to see if it's a viable new title. They offered me the Editor-in-Chief position when the mag goes to print next year. This is the stuff that dreams are made of. Mine anyway. I've been working, thinking, breathing, writing, conceptualizing magazines for nearly a decade. To be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">EIC</span> of a real magazine, a commercial-sell-to-the-public magazine (my magazine work has largely been custom magazines, not consumer) is <em>wow</em>. I've been wanting to head my own magazine, to give it direction, to share my passion with readers. And working with this publishing company is a great opportunity.<br /><br />But. Yup, there's that big but (and I don't mean mine). It will take all my time and energy. I know it will. Friends who work in that company (or even in the publishing industry), much as they enjoy it, admit that there isn't much of them left for anything else. So where would that leave The Hubby and Raine? Sure I'd be making good money; I'll be in a creative (but cutthroat) environment; I'll be doing things I'm good at and I enjoy--but what are my priorities?<br /><br />After much prayer and discussions with The Hubby and playing "What Ifs", I said no. And it felt good, sort of, turning down that fantastic opportunity. I could feel a sense of reassurance, a sense that God has something better planned for me. Then came the second offer.<br /><br />This time it was from my long-time client, whose annual watch magazine I've been doing for more than a decade. He knows that I don't want to work <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">full time</span>, so he offered me a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">full time</span>-part time job. I'd report to the office once or twice a week, and I'd work at home at my own discretion the rest of the time. I'd be working on the magazine, and basically the other stuff that he regularly farms out to me. I'm pretty much steeped in the watch culture, so while I'm no expert, I am passably knowledgeable. So the work wouldn't be that hard. And I like my client; he and his company are one of my favorites. They're generous, easy to work with and we respect each other's capabilities. Again, it would be a great opportunity. While it will still take up a lot of my time and energy, it wouldn't be as deadly as the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">EIC</span> position. And it would help with the finances, cover the tuition and school fees of Raine (been thinking of sending her to play school twice a week, but The Hubby said we can't afford it yet).<br /><br />I was discussing this new offer with my mom last night, and I wondered if I just am looking for opportunities (or excuses) to not be a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">full time</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">SAHM</span> (stay at home mom). And I wondered if I'm not really built for pure domesticity. I have all these domestic plans in my head--I'll bake cookies and make flavored oils and vinegars for gifts; I'll make soap again; I'll organize the family finances; I'll revolutionize the way we do the grocery; I'll <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">homeschool</span> Raine--but I never do any of them because there's always something else for me to do. Some article I had to write. Some expert I had to interview. Some book I had to read to unwind (it IS crucial to have some me time). In theory, if I quit my writing gigs, or at least did less, I'd have more time to act on all these plans. Theoretically. And so If I accepted this offer, it goes back to having no time to do anything.<br /><br />I suppose I was still subconsciously playing around with these possibilities in the shower this morning, when I heard that voice in my head. <em>What about the things you really want to write?</em> Because if I'd have no time for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">SuperWife</span>/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">SuperMom</span> stuff, what more for those personal things that I've been dreaming of writing? Right now, I write for a living. I write what people tell me to write. And what I want to write for myself--the children's stories, the essays, the short stories, the novel, the blog post even--they've withered into vague, colorless ideas at the back of my head.<br /><br /><em>What about the things you really want to write?</em> Is that God reminding me to wait on his perfect timing? Because He promised that I <em>would</em> write something great. Something that will be remembered. And I wrestled a promise out of Him that I would publish a book of my own.<br /><br />I guess it's hard to shake off that saying that 'God helps those who help themselves'. He doesn't really. He helps those who have faith in him. It's a fine, fine line between helping yourself and acting in faith.<br /><br />So what do I do now? What about those things that I really want to write? Are you talking to me, God? Or am I just talking to me?Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-48046962833863588262008-08-15T11:47:00.003+08:002008-08-15T12:05:23.170+08:00From Hair to Eternity<div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SKT-43QVXEI/AAAAAAAAAEg/62svToIhP9c/s1600-h/katie.jpg"></a>My hair and I have always had this uneasy alliance. I keep it relatively clean and healthy; and it covers my head. I suppose if I exerted more effort at styling, my hair and I could be best friends: It would be shiny, soft and en vogue, and I would look effortlessly glam. But alas. Like my <a href="http://rheeya.multiply.com/journal/item/92">drawing skills</a>, my hairdressing talent is woefully lacking.<br /><div align="left"><br /><div>I try, I really do. When I was in grade school, I had this clump of hair by that whorl (<em>puyo</em>, I think it’s called) that refused to stay down flat on my scalp. It was like a perpetual wave on an otherwise calm sea of hair. I would wet it constantly (gel and mousse were still beyond my ken) but it would pop back up. In frustration (and in typical Ree-fashion) I grabbed a pair of scissors and hacked off that stubborn clump of hair. Now I had an inch-and-a-half wide clearing right on top of my head, with spikes sticking straight up. My aunt promptly dubbed me “Chicken Head”. Till I graduated sixth grade my mom would always fix my hair—ponytail, clips, and my favorite: the French braid. My frustration was that no matter how tight and neat she made it, by lunch break, strands would escape everywhere, making me look so untidy. Worse, they’d be all over my face; and there’s nothing I hate more (well, actually, a lot) than having hair in my face. </div><br /><div>Fast forward to high school, where I had to stay in a dorm, six hours away from my hair-fixing mom. This was the era of Aqua Net and other cement-hard hairsprays; when towering bangs were a badge of honor (and a sign that you woke up early); and you walked downwind so an errant breeze wouldn’t knock your hairdo over. Again, my hair got the better of me; those pesky bangs wouldn’t just do what I wanted. In another pique, I grabbed some scissors (they are so dangerous to have around when my hair isn’t cooperating), grabbed my hair in a bunch in the middle of my forehead and slashed straight across. This time my roommate, Leah, nicknamed me “Padre Salvi” (if you ever read <em>Noli Me Tangere</em>, then you can imagine the hugging-the-edge-of-the-hairline-upside-down-U-bowl-shaped-typical-monk cut). </div><br /><div>I’ve tried permed hair, long hair, bobbed hair, shorter-than-my-husband’s hair—rarely can I sustain a fantastic hairstyle beyond the few hours out of the salon. My friend, <a href="http://www.michlim.net/">Mich</a>—makeup artist extraordinaire—<a href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11789094&amp;postID=112047903585814603">once cut my hair</a> and it looked great for a time (incidentally, Mich did my <a href="http://rheeya.multiply.com/photos/album/16/Maternity_Portraits">maternity portrait</a> makeup—she disguised my bloated nose and yucky skin and made me look so sexy and glam) then it was gone. There was a time, when I was pregnant with Raine, when my client, Keren, commented, “<em>Parang di ka buntis</em>—you’re so stylish!” After giving birth, my hair was up in clips or a scrunchi until I had it chopped off. Now it’s growing back—too long to stay out of my face, too short to keep in a ponytail. I look like Princess Di in the 80s. All that’s missing are the shoulder pads. </div><br /><div>I desperately want to cut my hair. I don’t think I can survive long hair now. It’s just too much to care for. I just have to find somewhere to have it cut. Is it too much to ask that the hairstylist at least look at me well—at my face shape (I think it’s square, currently rounded out and padded at the cheeks), at my glasses, my head shape, whatever—and really try to suggest cuts that would work well? Is it too much to ask that they ask me what my lifestyle is, if I even own a blow dryer (I used to have one, but it was only used for drying the dogs after their bath), if I have the patience to style my hair (no, I don’t)? Usually, they just say, “<em>Anong gupit? Ay, gusto mo magpa-hot oil</em>?” And till recently, “<em>Saan ka nagpapakulay ng buhok</em>?” Oh, one thing about my hair I love is the color—it’s a mix of light, dark and reddish brown, and it usually changes shades with the seasons. I’m so happy Raine has my hair color. But back to ranting: do you have to pay exorbitant sums to get that kind of treatment at a salon? And even if you pay so much, is it a guarantee that they treat you nicely? I hate snooty salon staff, people who make you feel like, “OMG—who is this creature that the cat dragged in? The cat’s hair looks better!” </div><br /><div>Aside from Gemini in Baguio—he’s been cutting my hair since second grade—I haven’t found any hairstylist I can pledge loyalty to. And I desperately need one now. I mean, Gemini is in Baguio—I’m not traveling all the way up to Baguio just for a haircut (when I do go to Baguio, I always plan a trip to Gemini). And last time I was there, I showed Gemini photos of Halle Berry and all these other Hollywood stars’ short ‘dos and he flipped through his catalogue and showed me some old photo of Maricel Soriano—the same one he showed me two years before!—and said, “<em>Yan. Yan ang bagay sa yo</em>!” Well, there’s no denying he knows me and my hair, and when Gemini cuts, it always grows out nicely. But I think I’m ready for a change. </div><br /><div>So where to go for that change? And what kind of change? I think Katie Holmes and I have the same face structure (she just has a nicer nose and less padding by the cheeks). <a href="http://omg.yahoo.com/photos/2-hot-2-handle/2172/2">So will this suit me? </a></div><div><br />The Hubby says it’s obviously styled—the fact that it looks so artlessly windblown is proof. And that means I’d have to have it cut often (I guess one reason I can never develop a lasting relationship with my hairdresser is that I’d prefer to see him or her like once a year—that’s all I have patience for). And it will eventually get into my eyes and be all over my face. But I think it looks fab. Where can I go for something like this? How much will it cost? </div><br /><div>I’m going up to Baguio next week…and I’ll probably end up at Gemini’s. </div></div></div>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-45337387051274992792008-08-11T12:50:00.001+08:002008-08-11T12:54:49.021+08:00Birthday GiftAfter nearly a month, The Hubby finally found the perfect birthday gift for me. He was thinking of an iPod Touch, but I guess he realized that while I'd enjoy it for a bit, I'm not the techie-gadget type, and I'd never maximize its features. So instead, yesterday, he got me a wetsuit.<br /><br />Oh joy joy joy. We've been taking scuba diving lessons together (thanks to my uber generous <a href="http://trixrod.multiply.com/">seester</a>, who gifted both The Hubby and me with the lessons) and I am having loads of fun. For one thing, getting my diver's license has been on my to-do list. First it was on my list of Things To Do Before I Turn 25. Then I had to move it to my Things To Do Before I Turn 30 list. Then it got bumped off to my Things To Do Before I Get Married list. Then finally to my Things To Do Before I Die list. So thank you, seester dear, because I didn't have to move it my Pros and Cons of Raine's Education list or my Things To Ask God When I See Him list.<br /><br />Next, it's been quite a while since The Hubby and I did something new together. When we started dating, we went wall climbing, kayaking, snorkeling, hiking, food tripping and all that. Now our lives mostly revolve around domesticity. Not that I'm complaining, but I truly miss that adrenaline rush and those adventures we had together. I'm so glad he agreed to go diving with me. I hope, after we get our licenses, that we actually go diving!<br /><br />But back to my birthday gift. Joe, our instructor, brought it last night and asked if I wanted to try it on. The Hubby had to sort of stuff me into it. It's even worse than squirming and jumping into skinny jeans, because you have to get it all the way up to your neck. And it definitely is the most unforgiving of all outfits. I looked like a PVC pipe with a thick layer of vulcaseal somewhere around the middle. Or like a butete. After our pool session and it was time to strip off, and The Hubby unzipped me, I could actually feel my flesh spreading. On a more positive note, when I wear it like divers do between dives--with just the legs on and the top unzipped and folded over by the waist--I look passably good.<br /><br />I've told The Hubby it's time to launch Operation Wetsuit, where the objective is to get into a wetsuit in less than 15 minutes and actually look sleek in it. The Hubby actually thought of going for a run yesterday. So we're off to a good start.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-16512845739767571362008-08-05T22:37:00.004+08:002008-12-13T12:11:44.960+08:00Budding Art ConnoisseurThe other day I drew this for Raine: <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SJhl6W357jI/AAAAAAAAAEI/JRRr0kz2Hmw/s1600-h/raine+art+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231043020437712434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 142px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 129px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="197" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SJhl6W357jI/AAAAAAAAAEI/JRRr0kz2Hmw/s320/raine+art+001.jpg" width="211" border="0" /></a><br />And she took one look at it and signed cat! I was so happy. Her appreciation of works of art is phenomenal. This, however, was beyond her:<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231043025350361650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 190px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 62px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="92" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SJhl6pLLAjI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/zSbuirqWSL4/s320/raine+art+002.jpg" width="242" border="0" /><br /><div align="left">It's a <em>duck</em>, people. </div>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-66150198084152268612008-08-01T17:43:00.002+08:002008-08-01T18:06:12.103+08:00Brownies and LifeYesterday I taught Raine one important life skill: how to scrape off brownie batter from the bowl and how to lick the spoon (and her fingers) clean. She's such a quick study. She immediately took the bowl from me, sat herself down at her small table and licked the bowl so it looked like you didn't even have to wash it (and in inverse proportion, got herself all dolled up in chocolate).<br /><br />Sure, this seems so inconsequential. Silly and useless even. Or stroke-inducing, for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">OC</span> people and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">neatniks</span> out there. But what did I really teach her? Well, I hope she learns that life is meant to be enjoyed, even while working. That she should stop and savor those moments of accomplishments (like getting the brownies in the oven), before moving on to the next task (like cleaning up after). I want her to know that she shouldn't take herself too seriously; that's it's OK to be messy once in awhile. I want her take pleasure in the mundane. I want her to see the joy in everything. I want her to be grateful that God gave us such a rich, gorgeous world, and he gave us the senses to experience it fully--from the rich aroma of baking brownies to the warmth coming from a lit oven on a rainy day to the decadently <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">fudgy</span> chocolate melting on your tongue.<br />I want my daughter to live life to the fullest, knowing that there is a God out there who cares enough to think about the little things like enjoying freshly baked brownies on a cold day.<br /><br />I pray that Raine will appreciate and come to love all the brownie batter bowls (and I mean that literally and figuratively) that life will send her way. That's the life skill that I want her to learn.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-57771045238605407342008-06-30T21:49:00.003+08:002008-07-02T18:44:53.154+08:00Biker Chicks--The PrequelWay before <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Rix</span></span> got her motorcycle and before that fateful <a href="http://rheeya.multiply.com/journal/item/89/Biker_Chick--Reprint">Biker Chick episode</a>, I got us a couple of mountain bikes first. Now that I think back, I realize the foolhardiness of youth. I mean, I am not the best biker in the world. Or in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">neighborhood</span></span>. Or even in a 100-meter radius (unless my mom is with me). I don't even know why I biked. Each biking excursion left me wiped out from a mixture of fear and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">exhilaration</span>. But bike we did; <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Rix</span></span> and I really went places with those mountain bikes.<br /><br />We lived near the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Buendia</span></span> end of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Leveriza</span></span>, and Harrison Plaza was a short jeep ride or a calorie-burning walk away. We were aimlessly wandering around Harrison one day and we saw "Buy-One-Take-One" on mountain bikes at Toby's and I still have no idea how she did it, but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Rix</span></span> convinced me that it would be a fantastic idea to get ourselves bikes. I think she used lines like, "Think of all the places we can go to!" and "It's good exercise!" and "It's fun!" and "It's cheap!"<br /><br />Let me digress here a moment--so we got the "cheap" bikes and soon after, we were becoming regular customers at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Cartimar</span></span> bike shops; so much so that our bikes were hardly the ones we started with. And eventually we traded in our bikes and added <em>twice</em> what we first paid for them to get spiffier bikes. By then I realized that I would never be Lance Armstrong, and I refused to spend a single peso more on my bike. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Rix</span></span>, though, really souped up her bike and used to bike to and from UP! And as with the motorcycle, I settled for vicarious biking thrills. I would say, "Oh my sister bikes to school and back," in such a way that you'd think I was there pedalling with her.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br />So from Harrison, we biked back to the apartment. And I remembered that the last time I biked on anything with only two wheels was a decade ago. And that was in a controlled environment, with no silly pedestrians who think that the road is the place to be; no maniacal car drivers whose sole mission in life seems to be terrorizing those on vehicles with half the number of wheels; no oops-did-I-just-run-into-something jeep and truck and bus drivers; no biker-unfriendly things littering the road, like parked cars, trash cans and sign posts. But we made it home safely, and began to plan our next trips.<br /><br />We biked to church (Union Church on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Rada</span></span> St.), and it always made for a more worshipful experience--I fervently thanked God each time for still being alive. We biked around the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">CCP</span></span> Complex; we even went around <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Intramuros</span> several times</span>. And one time I got a flat right outside <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Intramuros</span></span> and we couldn't find any vulcanizing shop and I had to walk my bike all the way home while <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Rix</span></span> biked in circles around me.<br /><br />Once, on impulse (naturally), we decided to meet a friend one afternoon at our <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Kuya's</span></span> gaming shop in BF <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Paranaque</span></span>, passing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Roxas</span></span> Boulevard, then the Airport Road. We figured it couldn't be <em>that</em> far. I guess in our minds we were thinking of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Merville</span></span>, not quite realizing that BF is way, way, way past that. And on the way we encountered more of those silly pedestrians milling around the road. I sort of almost ran down one guy--not my fault; I called out 'excuse me' and he didn't listen!--and he kinda got surprised and possibly to save face, he yelled at me something like, "<em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Gago</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">ka</span></span>! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Bulag</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">ka</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">ba</span></span>?</em>" and I felt like getting off my bike and yelling back at him, "<em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Hoy</span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">ikaw</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">ang</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">bulag</span></span></em>, <em>GAGA <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">ako</span></span>!</em>" But stopping gracefully and getting off the bike was something I hadn't quite mastered yet. We made it to BF in two hours. I think. And we made our friend drive us back home.<br /><br />But the most memorable by far--and the most fun, in a weird way--was when we biked along Manila Bay in the middle of a typhoon. Fine. At the tail end of a typhoon. It was one of those slow moving storms, and we were cabin-fevered, cooped up in the house for days. On the third day, we peeked out (like Noah) and saw that the wind had let up a bit and it was still raining, but not as hard. So what's a little rain, right? We headed out to an eerily empty <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Buendia</span></span> then on to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Roxas</span></span>, where we saw the waves slamming against the wall, sending massive sprays of sea water onto the sidewalk and street.<br /><br />We felt like we were in some kind of man-against-nature movie. I mean picture it. We were the only ones out (only brave ones or only foolish ones, you decide) on the road. The rain was coming down in sheets, the wind whipping us, monster waves out to get us--stopped only by that wall--and further drenching us. We were screaming our heads off each time a wave hit the wall. We felt invincible! I would have raised my arms over my head as we biked down <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Roxas</span></span>, or spread them out, like Meg Ryan in <em>City of Angels</em>, except that I would have most likely lost balance and toppled over.<br /><br />We were thoroughly enjoying pitting ourselves against the sea. Then we saw it. First it was one <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">supot</span></span>. </em>Followed by another. And another. Then we saw <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">tsinelas</span></span></em>. When we got to the end of the wall, we saw a whole mountain of trash being spit out by the sea. We continued screaming our heads off--this time with a different tone, and as much as possible, with our mouths closed.<br /><br />I think the sea and Mother Nature had the last laugh.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-41132192658175049912008-06-27T17:20:00.003+08:002008-06-27T17:50:55.066+08:00TRUTH THURSDAYS: I Wish...<em><span style="font-size:78%;">Inspired by </span><a href="http://taguan.multiply.com/journal/item/203/TRUTH_THURSDAYS_7_still_on_IDENTITY?replies_read=7"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Stef's</span> Truth Thursdays </span></a><span style="font-size:78%;">prompt.</span></em><br /><br />I wish I knew why there always seems to be a shoe in the middle of the road. Drive anywhere here in Manila, and sooner or later you will see a shoe. A single, forlorn shoe. Sometimes it's a sneaker; sometimes a serious leather lace-up type; often it's a sandal or slipper. Whatever kind it is, it makes you wonder how it got there. And why, oh why, is there always only one?<br /><br />Did the person wearing it dart across the road, like foolishly lazy pedestrians are wont to do, and the shoe just came off and the person was too scared to run back to the middle of the road to retrieve it? Or maybe he was riding a motorcycle and a pothole jerked the shoe off his foot. Or perhaps, like Hansel and Gretel, she was just leaving a trail her <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">star crossed</span> lover could follow as her furious parents carted her away?<br /><br />The Hubby and I also have this theory that it's all part of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">MMDA's</span> "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Bawal</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Tumawid</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Nakakamatay</span>" campaign. These solitary shoes in the middle of a busy street subliminally underscore the message. As in<em>, see--all that's left of the</em> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">pasaway</span> <em>crosser is this shoe...do you want this to happen to you</em>? We have images of the blue <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">MMDA</span> trucks making midnight runs, dropping shoes at strategic points; and of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">MMDA</span> enforcers radioing the base, "<em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Wala</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">nang</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">sapatos</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">sa</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">EDSA</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Magallanes</span>, over.</em>"<br /><br />Naturally, my mom and sisters find this hilarious, and have quickly adopted this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">MMDA</span>-shoe theory as their own. Once, my mom <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">texted</span> me, "I think <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">MMDA</span> has been training the people here in Baguio...we saw a shoe on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Kennon</span> Road."<br /><br />Is it a conspiracy for road safety? Is it a mystery that will never be solved? I wish I knew.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-44886413942312673832008-06-12T15:10:00.002+08:002008-06-12T16:03:42.575+08:00TRUTH THURSDAYS: Sometimes I...<em><span style="font-size:85%;">From <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Stef's</span> </span></em><a href="http://taguan.multiply.com/journal/item/197/TRUTH_THURSDAYS_5_IDENTITY_?replies_read=1"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Truth Thursdays post</span></em></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;">. I skipped last week's prompt, so will try to be on time with this week's. </span></em><br /><br />Sometimes I wonder if I have any depth or substance to me at all. I have minimal interest in current events unless it directly affects me like, right now, here where I am standing. I can't <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">knowledgeably</span> discuss politics, economics or give an intellectual analysis of such. I can discuss in detail, though, the pros and cons of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ProKids</span> vs <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Huggies</span> Pull-Ups; and I can identify a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">goony</span> bird on sight (at least I think so).<br /><br />Sometimes I think the world revolves around me. And everything is about me, and what I do or don't do.<br /><br />Sometimes I wonder how I can call myself a writer, when I don't sit down everyday and write. Maybe I'm really a dreamer, who dreams of being a writer. Or I'm just a plain reader who dabbles in writing.<br /><br />Sometimes I feel like I'm such a fake Christian. A poseur who goes to church regularly and prays at mealtimes and spouts things like "God bless you," and "Be still before God." But if you look deep inside you'd find something dark and sinister. The amazing thing is though, God loves me just the same.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-6568064727669942122008-06-02T08:26:00.002+08:002008-06-02T08:35:51.888+08:00TRUTH THURSDAYS: My Worry Today…<span xmlns=""><p>Inspired by <a href="http://taguan.multiply.com/journal/item/185/TRUTH_THURSDAYS_3_still_on_IDENTITY?replies_read=17">Stef's <em>Truth Thursdays </em></a>prompt.<br /></p><p>I worry that I'm not a good enough mother. That I'm not stimulating enough. Not patient enough. Not loving enough. I don't teach her enough. That I don't discipline enough: she'll grow up to be a spoiled brat like those spoiled brats that I hate and whose parents I blame for their lack of discipline and now I've become one of them. I worry that I don't put enough sunscreen. That I don't feed her right. That her knees are dry and her legs full of bruises from bumping into things as she walks around (so like me!) and marks from mosquito bites because I don't put enough insect repellant and she'll grow up and won't have the chance to be Ms. Universe because her knees are dry and her legs are spotty. I worry that she'll grow up vain because I can't help but exclaim, "Oh you're so pretty! You're so cute! You're totally adorable!" because I can only tell the truth and I'm her mother and she really is. I worry that she isn't speaking yet because I don't talk to her enough and I'd rather read a book by myself than read to her sometimes and I can't keep up a running commentary on every single thing we're doing like the books say I should. I worry about her character. That she won't get it about the fruit of the spirit because maybe she doesn't really see it from me. I worry about her relationship with God: how will she believe me when I tell her we should put God above all else, and that we should rely on Him totally when I run around trying to solve everything myself. I worry that her teeth are going to get cavities because I still let her breastfeed to sleep and she still wants milky in the middle of the night. I worry that it will be hard to get her to sleep in her own bed because she thinks that she belongs in our bed, with her Daddy and me, and I shouldn't have agreed to let her co-sleep with us in the first place since she was doing so well in the crib. I worry that she has dandruff because she loves pulling her hair and scratching her head. That when I trim her hair, it will grow back straight and her beautiful curly hair will be gone forever. I worry that I'm forcing her to be independent too soon. I worry that I won't let her go. I worry, I worry, I worry. </p></span>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-63429700839116762942008-05-23T08:59:00.002+08:002008-05-23T16:31:14.634+08:00TRUTH THURSDAYS: My Body is Holding Back...<em><span style="font-size:85%;">Another entry inspired by </span></em><a href="http://taguan.multiply.com/journal/item/180/TRUTH_THURSDAY_2_IDENTITY?replies_read=12"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Stef's</span> Truth Thursday prompt</span></em></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;">. And I'm getting better; it's only Friday.</span></em><br /><br />My body is holding back energy and a lot of productive output. My body is a firm believer (or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">marshmallowy</span> believer, if you want to be more accurate) in Newton's first law of motion. Inertia has become my enemy.<br /><br />I have so many plans and ideas--most of them brilliant, really--but not much comes to fruition. Say my mind has this fabulous idea on how to fix the house, and all these images of tastefully decorated rooms float around my head, and I can picture <em>Real Living</em> magazine giving me a call, they want to shoot the house for their next cover, and I can hear everyone ooh-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ing</span> and aah-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ing</span> over the beautifully done interiors and I'm raring to go get started, and my body says (aided by a traitorous part of my brain), "Wait, there are about 50 billion more pages to surf, you have to get more tips on how to decorate the house, and besides you need the budget to get all the stuff you want, so you have to go shopping, if and when you get the budget, and that means you have to get a babysitter for Raine, and of course, that all depends if The Hubby does give you the budget...so just stay in that seat and surf." And my body just won't budge.<br /><br />Same thing happens with my cooking gourmet meals, baking scrumptious cookies and cakes, taking lessons for driving or cooking or writing, writing my next blog or short story or article, or whatever amazing thing I have in mind. Sometimes I do get mind over matter (if you don't mind, then it doesn't matter--<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">hee</span>) and I manage to accomplish something, then I run out of momentum. Newton's law again!<br /><br />I need an outside force to continuously keep me in motion. Help!Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-10217981553816870752008-05-16T09:12:00.004+08:002008-05-17T09:01:29.661+08:00TRUTH THURSDAYS: My Body is Holding Onto...<span style="font-size:85%;"><em>From <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Stef's</span> </em></span><a href="http://taguan.multiply.com/journal/item/176"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Truth Thursdays prompt</em></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;">. And yes, I know it's Saturday already. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br />My body is holding onto its former glory. Or at least the memory of it. Gone are the days when I could (and would) strut around in short shorts and mini skirts, in belly-baring tops and unforgiving <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bodyhugging</span> catsuits. I no longer turn heads as I pass by. Fortunately, people don't turn tail and run away yet when they see me coming.<br /><br />As The Hubby would say, women reach their peak at 25, then it's all downhill from there (so it's a good thing The Hubby and I hooked up when I was 25). Eight years and about 25 pounds later, I'm still sliding down that slope, silently screaming.<br /><br />But my body has been through a lot, the most recent being childbirth and breastfeeding (and I maintain that five of those excess pounds are all boobs and milk), sleepless nights (and days) and everything else that comes with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">wifehood</span> and motherhood. So while my body looks back fondly, and sometimes sadly, at its old self, it's learning to adjust to its new self, and learning to look at it with a new sense of pride. From beach goddess, I am now a domestic goddess.<br /><br />Still, losing that extra poundage wouldn't hurt. Oh well.Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-91317827263929719722008-05-13T15:54:00.003+08:002008-12-13T12:11:45.693+08:00What's Cookin'<div>I love food. I adore eating. I live to eat (as opposed to The Hubby, who usually eats to live). Consequently, I enjoy cooking and baking. Most times anyway. </div><div></div><div> </div><div>So this love affair with food got me out of bed at 5AM last Saturday, and out of the house by 7AM, for a cross country trek to the<a href="http://www.cca-manila.com/"> Center for Culinary Arts </a>(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">CCA</span>) on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Katipunan</span>. My friend Ruby invited me to join her and a group of her friends for a Kitchen <a href="http://www.cca-manila.com/content/view/41/156/"></a>Discovery Class (<a href="http://www.cca-manila.com/content/view/41/156/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">KDC</span></a>). Supposedly for cooking and baking enthusiasts and those who want to check out what happens in a professional kitchen or those who are thinking of going into Culinary Arts, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">KDC</span> is a 6-hour course that "introduces you to the exciting <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">foodservice</span> and hospitality industry". </div><div></div><br /><div>As far as introductions go, it was like being introduced to a prince. Or maybe some mid-level duke (is there such a thing?). I mean, at the end of the day, we were supposed to have learned to make Caramelized Salmon with Orange-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Shoyu</span> Glaze with Sauteed Mixed Vegetables, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Soba</span> Noodles, Lemongrass <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Beurre</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Blanc</span> and Balsamic-Soy Reduction; plus Saffron <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Panna</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Cotta</span> with Citrus Caramel Sauce and Almond <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Tuile</span>. As our chef-instructor <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Menoy</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Gimenez</span> said, quite a mouthful. Then again, I don't suppose you'd pay P3,800 (the cost of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">KDC</span>, if I paid for it myself) to learn how to cook <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">sinigang</span></em> or fried chicken. </div><div></div><br /><div>Speaking of the chef-instructor, I was hoping for Chef Rob from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">QTV's</span> <em>Chef to Go</em>. Yummy! Unfortunately, he doesn't teach at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">CCA</span>. Ruby said that Chef Tristan <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Encarnacion</span>, he of the countless Alaska and pots-and-pans print ads, could be teaching (pretty acceptable). But we ended up with Chef <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Menoy</span>, and I loved him. Just like our balsamic-soy reduction, he managed to reduce what felt like 20 pages of recipe ingredients and instructions into its simple, palatable essence. </div><div></div><br /><div>For someone who is one of the founders of the first (I think) culinary school in the country, Chef <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Menoy</span> reminds me of a big bowl of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">sundried</span>-tomato-and-broccoli pasta: slightly exotic but very comforting; intimidating at first, but once you get used to him, very encouraging. He broke down the complex instructions into easy-to-digest steps, punctuated every now and then by "Does that make sense?" Explained the way he did, things did make more sense. </div><div></div><br /><div>I won't go into a blow-by-blow (or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">bleu</span> by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">bleu</span>, if you prefer) account of our three cooking hours. But at the end, we had a fantastic tasting, beautifully plated salmon. <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SCpc-COj3FI/AAAAAAAAADY/oti-QKsUqcI/s1600-h/IMG_0022.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200070940572245074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SCpc-COj3FI/AAAAAAAAADY/oti-QKsUqcI/s320/IMG_0022.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div></div><div> </div><div>Fine, I'm not the best food photographer, but our salmon really did look nice. And it was yummy. As Chef <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Menoy</span> says, the test to see if the dish is any good: would I pay for it? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Hmm</span>. If I weren't such a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">chennybopper</span>, yes, I would. </div><div> </div><div>I didn't stay for the afternoon <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Panna</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Cotta</span> session (I heard that it was a blast) since I promised Raine I'd take her swimming in the afternoon. Would have been nice to learn how to make those fancy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">tuiles</span> (can't even pronounce it). </div><div> </div><div>I wish I was able to take home what we prepared though (each group of five had two salmon pieces--not enough to go around, especially if you eat the way I do). Oh, and I wanted to take home their knives! Such joy chopping up things with a sharp knife. What I did get to take home was my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">CCA</span> shirt, a nice apron (perfect, as Ruby says, for preparing instant noodle soup), a hand towel and a skull cap (I guess you get the toque when you're seriously cooking). And I got a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">CCA</span> certificate. Will have it framed and hung in my kitchen. </div><div> </div><div>I am looking forward to their <a href="http://www.cca-manila.com/content/view/56/74/">classes in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Serendra</span> </a>though, mainly because it's so much nearer (I can't imagine getting up and making the cross country trek on a regular basis). <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">JB</span>, who's on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">CCA's</span> marketing team described some pretty interesting courses called "Chefs and the (Global) City". It isn't hands on, more like a cooking show type of thing--but you get to eat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">whatever's</span> prepared. Oh joy. </div><div> </div><div>I do hope <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">CCA</span> has more hands on classes somewhere closer to home. Here in my house, preferably. Their Kitchen Discovery Class has sure whet my appetite for more. </div><div> </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SCpc-SOj3GI/AAAAAAAAADg/HACDmZyCAvM/s1600-h/IMG_0024.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200070944867212386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_KDtt_R5Vb7Y/SCpc-SOj3GI/AAAAAAAAADg/HACDmZyCAvM/s320/IMG_0024.JPG" border="0" /></a></div>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11789094.post-62122625562774767852008-05-08T08:11:00.002+08:002008-05-08T14:18:44.354+08:00What I'm Reading and What Else Should I ReadMy book drive has been pretty effective. I now have a small stack of books to read. I'm starting to not miss <a href="http://rheeya.multiply.com/journal/item/79/Goodbye_Beloved">my other books </a>too much.<br /><br />So far, in my pile I have:<br /><ol><li><em>New Moon</em> by Stephanie Meyer. Recommended and lent by my sister <a href="http://shtoeta.multiply.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ro</span>-Ann</a>. It's book three in the <em>Twilight</em> series, which will soon be a movie. Fine, it's sort of a teenybopper series, and I sort of cringe reading some parts, but it is intriguing. I'm not sure I'll enjoy this third book though, since I'm rooting for Jacob, not Edward (get into the Twilight craze to see who I'm talking about!). </li><li><em>Raising Lifelong Learners</em> by Lucy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Calkins</span>. Lent by my sister in law <a href="http://sanpablenya.multiply.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Lelay</span></a>. She got it from her dad before her son Third was born. He's now 6 years old, and she hasn't read the book! Let's see how old Raine will be when I do get to finish reading this. </li><li><em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Practical</span> Soups; <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Practical</span> Wok &amp; Stir-Fry; Pasta; Curries &amp; <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Tajines</span>; Spaghetti; Appetizers; Chocolate</em>. A plethora of recipe books, also from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Lelay</span>. I love reading cookbooks. Sometimes, I even try out the recipes! The one I'm really checking out now is the soup book, since Raine has developed a liking for soup, and I sort of am getting <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">nilaga</span>/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">tinola</span>/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">sinigang</span>/Chinese soup/instant <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">mami</span> fatigue. The other day I modified one of the recipes and made a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">luscious</span>, if rather watery, carrot and potato soup. Raine loved it! I want to try making truffles (from the chocolate book) next. </li><li><em>The Best Philippine Short Stories of the Twentieth </em>Century edited by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Isagani</span> R. Cruz. Gift from The Hubby last Christmas, and I've been reading it slowly. It's a really hefty book, so it's hard to read while lying down in bed (or on the couch or wherever), and it's hard to haul around in your bag for emergency reading. Now I leave it in the bathroom, where I can read a few pages during "library time". Now The Hubby gets to enjoy it too. </li><li><em>The Poetry of Pablo Neruda</em>. Another gift from The Hubby. And again, another hefty book. So after the short story anthology, this goes into the bathroom next. </li><li><em>What to Expect in the Toddler Years</em>. Finally got a copy in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Booksale</span> at less than half the price in National! Yet another hefty tome. Then again, it's meant to be read in stages. So expect this to be on my bedside table for months to come (couple of years, actually). </li></ol><p>As for <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">recommendations</span>, <a href="http://35664.multiply.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Djong</span> </a>has suggested <em>The Girl with the Pearl Earring.</em> Will try to look for a copy. </p><p>Any other suggestions, donations, gifts or books to lend? </p>Reehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15314022691528842342noreply@blogger.com2